


Heartbeat (1,2,3)

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angry Dean, Arguing, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hunters & Hunting, Loup-garou | Rougarou, M/M, Post-Season/Series 11, mention of Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dammit, Cas," he growls, hating how steady Cas's breathing is against his throat, "you're so stupid sometimes." </p><p>Cas's eyes flicker to his lips. "Stupid for the right reasons."</p><p>Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat (1,2,3)

_I’m trying to put it all back together_

_I've got a story and I'm trying to tell it right_

_I got the kerosene and a desire_

_I'm trying to start a flame in the heart of the night_

**_~The Fray, “Heartbeat”_ **

Heartbeat (1, 2, 3)

"Do I have a sign on my door that says 'Now Accepting Apologies'?"

"I... I don't know what else to say," Cas states, deflating.

Dean suffocates the persistent vein in his temple with the pad of his thumb. _Lub-dub…_ He _cannot_ believe he's having this conversation with an ex-ticking time bomb of Heaven—Heaven being the operative word. "There's a _billion_ other things to say," he drills on, "like, 'Hey Dean, a Rougarou is about to punch in his meal ticket, you can swing now’—"

"I couldn't take that chance."

"I _could_ , man," Dean emphasizes, searching Castiel's eyes for any indication of understanding. "We're hunters; this is what we do—"

"No, Dean. This is what _you_ do."

 _Dean fumbled for the blowtorch that rattled his brain like a cluttered cup holder not moments before as the Rougarou pinned him to the floorboard. The few inches separating Dean from freedom felt like miles_. Lub-dub, lub-dub. _Three… The Rougarou’s sticky, starved breath ghosting along his neck._ Lub-dub. _Two… His teeth grow longer, taunting his prey._ Lub-dub, lub-dub… _One—_

Dean throws his head back despite the sciatica that shoots up his skull. _Lub-dub, lub-dub…_ "What's that supposed to mean?" Cas traces the day-old coffee stains in the counter with a stained finger before mumbling something incoherent underneath three layers of layaway. "What?"

"I'm not," he says, kerosene laced in his borrowed veins.

Dean feels his engine of a heart go into overdrive. He shifts to avoid swerving into oncoming traffic. _Lub-dub._ "What're you saying?"

"I'm not a hunter, Dean," he says like it's gospel—maybe it is, "I'm practically useless when it comes to anything that involves humanity. I didn't even know how hedonism stimulated... you know." It's Cas's turn to shift. This time, he looks Dean in the eye. "The only way I know how to survive—how to save you and find your brother, the only way I’ve ever known—is to be an angel."

 _Dean shuts his eyes as a white beam of light shoots from the Rougarou’s every stinking crevice before his body topples over. Above him is Castiel, who, aside from the ever-present disconcerted facial expression, didn’t seem to break a sweat. He lends out a hand, but Dean only sinks further into the chipped floorboard, surrendering to the exhaustion that sweeps over him like the plague. He pushes back unwanted thoughts dated back to Purgatory…_ Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…

"Cas, why didn't you—you're not _useless_ , man!” he shouts, growing angrier by the pissed-away seconds, “Not to us, not to anyone."

"Try telling that to the rest of the fallen angels," Cas mumbles.

Before he knows it, Dean has a ball of Cas’s trenchcoat in his fists.  "Dammit, Cas," he growls, hating how steady Cas's breathing is against his throat, "you're so stupid sometimes."

Cas's eyes flicker to his lips. "Stupid for the right reasons."

_Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…_

Dean grabbles with reality and Castiel’s trenchcoat. He’s a hunter, for Christ Sakes, his hands shouldn’t be this fucking shaky. If his dad saw him with a gun in them, he’d tell him to blast those silver bullets up Cas’s ass, and God, did he want to. Dean’s mind might as well have a sign that said under construction taped on his forehead for all the walls he built over the years and Cas had to come along and tear them down.

Cas doesn’t even blink when Dean lets him go a little too roughly. He turns his back to him, shoulders taut, before turning around and saying, “You stink, you know that?”

“I’m aware.”

_Cas looks down at Dean through squared cobalt eyes. “You look terrible.”_

_“Hello to you too, Cas,” he grumbles._

Without another wasted breath, Dean surges forward, crowding Cas against the countertop. Instead of holding him in place with his fists, however, he uses the slow, frustrating pull of his hips. When they’re chest to chest, Dean feels their heartbeats in a hiccupped cadence: _Lub-du-dub, lub-du-dub, lub-du-dub…_

Only when Dean chafes his lips on his does the song even out.  

_Oh you got a fire and it's burning in the rain_

_Thought that it went out, but it's burning just the same_

_And you don't look back, not for anything_

_'Cause if you love someone, you love them all the same_

 

 

 


End file.
